


when the tide rises

by darkcomedylateshow



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Richard centric, set around s1-s2, smoochin'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:10:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcomedylateshow/pseuds/darkcomedylateshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Richard touches him is an accident. It didn’t mean anything at the time, but it kept him up at night for months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the tide rises

      The first time Richard touches him is an accident. It didn’t mean anything at the time, but it kept him up at night for months. 

     It happened after spending most of the evening working in some trendy coffee bar, back when they were still filling out LLC paperwork, forms and agreements that mostly flew over his head. By the time they were done the place were closing up, turning chairs over and mopping the floor — it added an uncomfortable urgency to saying goodbye. He's counted out at least twelve new texts burning a hole in his pocket. 

     “I have to say, you’ve been really patient with all of this,” Jared says when they’re outside on the sidewalk. 

     “It’s not a big deal,” he says, “not at all.”

     “I still appreciate it.”  

     Then Jared does something unexpected: he reaches out and touches his arm. Richard’s first response, for whatever reason, is to reach out and do the same, so they’re standing on the sidewalk, gripping each other’s arms like he’s pulling him out of a burning building or something. It lasts about half a second, and then Richard shoves his hand back in his pocket. 

     “Yeah. I — me too,” he says, through a tight smile. "See you tomorrow?” 

     “See you tomorrow.” Then he’s gone. 

     Richard walks across the street where he’s parked, turns the car on, and calmly answers a few texts. Then it hits him, viciously hard:  _Me too? What the fuck does that even mean?_

     He drinks some lukewarm water and starts to drive, but he can't stop thinking about it. It happened in four distinct movements, like a huge fuck-up symphony. They thank each other; Jared touches his arm; then Richard touches his arm (and this was where it was confusing — he’s not big on contact, especially with someone he barely knows, but Jared seemed so _sincere_ about it, and that was what surprised him); and then, finally, they both speak again, which is the worst part. _Me too_ is a series of words that usually make sense and convey meaning, but Richard doesn’t even know what he meant by it. 

    He thinks about it so much he veers over in his lane too much and grazes the side of a stopped bus. The left mirror is hanging off his car, but he floors it, getting through every yellow light until he pulls into the driveway. He staggers out of his car and sits on the curb, his head in his hands, hoping the cool air does something to calm him down. Then he starts to hear voices from inside pick up, people talking and laughing, so he steels himself and heads inside.  

* * *

    The second time is on purpose. Jared’s a tactile person — not just with people, with everything. Sometimes he notices the way he rests his hand on a car door or pantry or clasps his hands tightly. It seems to keep him grounded in harder moments. Richard, meanwhile, prickles towards pretty much any touch, but he doesn’t mind closeness. Feeling someone is next to you is different than having someone’s hands on you. He starts to notice strangers on buses who sit close together, almost touching knees and shoulders, who don’t notice they’re doing it. Or how he gravitates towards Big Head when they’re hanging out (granted, still with a few feet between them) or how Erlich hovers just a step too close whenever they're talking. His theory is that some people just have different orbits, and Richard's is naturally wide unless someone begins to draw him in. 

     So it’s fine, really, it’s not a huge deal when he’s sitting on the couch, late at night, next to Jared, and they’re both on their phones. He’s spent the whole day working, and he’s still a little buzzed on the energy drinks, so they’ve both been sitting there, officially off the clock, but still technically working. Richard’s been answering emails and checking tech blogs like he has been for the past several days.  

     “Jesus. The last time Gizmodo even mentioned what Pied Piper _does_ was three months ago.” 

     “I hate to ask this, but how long have you been awake?” 

     “A normal amount of hours, I guess,” Richard says, scrolling through another article without reading it. “I'm not done.”

     “Well, not to sound like a broken record, but you really ought to sleep. I mean, you won’t get a lot done passed out from exhaustion.” 

     “I don't know if I can.” He runs his hands through his hair. Trying to sleep sounds like the least appealing thing possible. “I've psyched myself up too much, I guess. I do it all the time. All the stuff you say not to worry about it? I worry about it.” 

     “But then you can’t stop?” 

     “Yeah.” Richard leans forward onto his knees, staring down at the carpet. “It’s not a good strategy. Probably why we got fucked over.” 

     “That’s not why.” Jared frowns at him. “Richard, none of what’s happened has been —”

     “My fault? No, it’s totally my fucking fault.” Every thought that he’s let smolder for too long bubbles up, all at once. “The only reason this company got fucked over in the first place was _directly_ my fault. I mean, yeah, it hasn’t helped having _Erlich_ , the human version of a fucking Garfield cartoon, as the face of the company, or, you know, our  _programmers_ telling our competitors how the _fucking_ program works, but it’s still my —” 

    “Richard.” Jared makes it look like he’s about to reach out for his arm or something, but stops himself.  

     “Sorry,” Richard says, still not getting enough air in his lungs. He forces himself to breathe in slowly a few times until his pulse slows down. “Really. I’m sorry.”  

    “What are you sorry for?"

    “Telling you all that.” 

     He notices Jared look down in the dark, thinking.  

     “I want to help you,” he says, and he turns to Richard with thislook on his face that twists his stomach around. “I don’t mean that in a patronizing way. I really do want to help you.” 

     “It’s just that — there are so many things you don’t know, about me.”

     “Well, there are plenty of things you don’t know about _me_ ,” Jared says. “I think that’s pretty normal.”  

     “No, but — I want to know about you,” he says, and he starts stammering, barely stringing together the rest of his sentence. “And I want you to know about me. As well. That’s the weird part. Is that the — is that weird?” 

     He feels Jared’s hand on his knee. Richard doesn’t mind it, not at all. Within in an instant he’s reached up and set his hand, gingerly, on top of his. 

     “That’s not weird,” Jared says. 

* * *

     The third time doesn’t happen how it’s supposed to. If  _everything_ is going up in flames, Richard might as well add this to the pile, too. 

     Out of (almost) nowhere, he starts kissing him in the hallway, and Jared doesn't miss a beat. Richard feels just a little more urgent than him, clumsier as he stands rigid against the wall, his hands around his collar. He’s sure Jared can feel his heart pounding if he can’t hear it, and it’s like he’s sinking into a current, grabbing onto him like a lifeline. 

     “Richard,” Jared asks, his voice sounding measured even when he's out of breath, “are you sure you’re not just doing this to hurt yourself?”  

     He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “I’m not sure.” 

     “I mean — this is wonderful, and I really would like to, but I don’t know if right now is the time.” 

     Richard laughs, but he’s not sure what's funny. He shakes his head, staring off down the hall, trying to avoid looking at him. “Then what’s the right time?” 

     “I don’t know.” Jared takes a step back, and Richard slides to the floor with a sigh. He sits next to him, and they stay there for a while, listening to the sound of cicadas outside and thinking. 

     “I like you a lot,” Richard finally says. “And — well, I already fucked up by even acknowledging that. So maybe it isn’t a big deal if we fuck it up even more.” 

     “I don’t think we’d be doing that,” Jared says, wrinkling his brow. “I don’t think it would be bad at all.” 

     He thinks about what’s going to happen tomorrow, and the hangover he’ll inevitably wake up with, and the feeling of the plastic chair cutting into his back as he sits there and has everything he’s worked for stripped away from him. He thinks about at least getting to wake up next to someone. 

     “I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Richard says. “I mean, _we’re_ not going anywhere.” 

     Jared glances at him, and admits: “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

     A few minutes later, with very little preamble, they’re making out on the air mattress.

     Richard's head is spinning — with a bit of encouragement he gets Jared to touch his hair, to rest his hand on his cheek. It's the only way he can remember what he's doing,  _why_ he's doing it, instead of letting himself float away.  _It doesn't really matter_ , he tells himself, but he doesn't buy it. 

     "Hey," Richard says, staring at him. He's lying on his side opposite Jared, facing the window. A car drives past outside, and the light stretches through the blinds across his face. "Can we stay like this for a while?" 

     "Yeah. Absolutely." 

     Jared reaches out for his hand, and Richard grabs it without any hesitation, for the first time. 

   

**Author's Note:**

> this was a little self-indulgent but I had fun with it -- I have a lot of ideas for longer fics that i'm trying to consolidate, but i wanted to warm up a little by writing about my boys! thanks @ all my readers/commenters/kudos-givers! your support and kindness means a lot to me. 
> 
> title is from [Where'd All The Time Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmZQpbNK7t4) by Dr. Dog


End file.
